


Mercy At My Feet

by Aerowax26



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, M/M, Nostalgia, Reminiscing, liminal spaces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 20:09:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15347742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerowax26/pseuds/Aerowax26
Summary: A gas station, forgotten by time, becomes a haunted place after dark.  What good are memories if you can't touch them?Set 10 years post WoR





	Mercy At My Feet

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from a song called "Big Hard Sun" by Eddie Vedder. Hope you like.

This place isn't even on the map. One of those out of the way spots that still exists thirty years in the past, in spite of the open borders and the progress of the last decade. Faded red paint peels from the neon sign that proudly declares there are vacancies, but half or better of the bulbs are burned out. A handful of rusted cars line the edges of the lot, all look abandoned.

It's late. Prompto's not as young as he used to be, and night is no friend of his. He shoud rest, stay till morning, but he has places to be.  

He pulls into the lot and parks next to the gas pumps. Gets out and stops to admire his car. Hard to believe it belongs to him. A classic, Cid might have called it if he was still around. Rare, or so he'd been told. Not many left, even in Insomnia.

Chocobo yellow. A Star of Lucis. Same model Noctis used to own. Lovingly painted and restored by the finest mechanic Prompto's ever known. Cindy nearly pissed herself the first time she drove it. Hooted and hollered and stepped on the gas pedal like she stole it.

More silver than gold in her hair now, but she's aging like a fine wine. Still gorgeous enough to stop traffic.

Prompto can't say the same for himself. Time has not been so kind.

He steps away from the car and takes a look around. Maybe he's been here before, maybe not. There were dozens of rest stops just like this one dotting the landscape back in the day. Some were updated, renovated, but many, many others were pushed over, too damaged by the Ruin to salvage.

This is not one such place. It's like stepping back into the past. He's twenty again, trying his best to keep the mood light in the midst of tragedy and longing for someone to love him in return.

On the bench outside the diner, Kenny Crow, beak broken, most of his paint chipped away, two fingers missing from one gloved hand, three from the other, and his feet lost to time, sits awaiting photo ops and laughing kids that won't ever come. In the window, a faded ad describes the virtues of Kenny's Famous Salmon.

There are no card readers on the gas pumps. A hand written sign says _cash only_. He digs through the satchel in the trunk, not sure if he even has cash on him, but there might be something of value to trade.

A broken harmonica. A pocket watch that still keeps time, in spite of its busted face. A handful of other odds and ends. He collects them and stashes them in his pocket, then heads inside the shop.

The man at the counter could be the same one who ran the shop before. It's been too long to tell for sure. Prompto peruses the racks of souvenirs and post cards as old as he is, a little amused and a little unsettled by the sense that he's gone back two decades, back to his youth.

The light in here is strange. Not the bright lights he remembers, but a hazy, murky blue. One of the bulbs overhead has gone bad and it flickers on and off with a soft, low hum. He watches it until the shopkeeper clears his throat.

Prompto smiles and moves on to the display racks of snacks and candy, shelves full of brands he hasn't seen in too long to remember.

Phoenix Purple.  Mama Edea.  

The bell over the door jingles and he looks up as four young men enter the shop. He freezes and holds his breath.  

Did they ever look so young?

He's almost forgotten what Noctis looked like at twenty, his face shaved clean and his eyes hidden behind a fringe of bangs. Or Ignis without his scars and milky, sightless eyes. Gladio's always been huge, but the young man leaning against the counter seems somehow diminished in his youth, that ridiculous haircut a forgotten relic from days long gone.

And himself, at twenty. Average height, thirty pounds lighter, muscular yet somehow scrawny, narrow hips and insanely gelled hairstyle that indeed looked like a chocobo butt.

His younger self laughs at something on the postcard rack and elbows Noctis. Noctis grins and elbows him back. There's a long, loaded look shared between them. Their smiles falter and they both look away, in opposite directions, the sexual tension too obvious to miss. Tension that was never resolved in the end.

He would have done anything. Noctis could have asked for his soul, and Prompto would have given it willingly.

_Take it. It's all yours._

It's been ten whole years since he saw Noctis last. Prompto's never forgotten, never stopped wanting what he couldn't have.

He wishes he could let go. Wishes there was some way to move on, but Noctis was his first and best friend, his first and only true love. No one else ever held a candle to that particular flame. Even if he's loved another since then, it's not the same.

Three of them vanish, one by one, until only Noctis is left. He stands by a rack near the counter and brushes a finger over a cactuar statue. His smile is wistful and pure and a little sad, probably thinking of a much younger Talcott and his love of cactuars and his broken heart.

That statue is still in Talcott's truck, as it has been since Cor let him have a truck of his own, a cherished gift from the young King he so adored. Kept where he could see it every day.

Noctis fades, and Prompto continues to stand there, lost in distant memories. Already, it's a struggle to remember what he looked like as a young man.

“You gonna buy somethin' or what?”

Prompto snaps back to the present, the past, or whatever time this is, and approaches the counter. He trades the broken trinkets in his pocket for gas money and buys a can of Ebony for kicks, because Gods, when was the last time he ran across one of those? He doubts they even still make them, much to Iggy's disappointment.

He doesn't want to linger here any longer. The oddity of the past and present mingling together like this leaves him with a bad taste in his mouth.

Outside, the Regalia is parked where his Star should be. Noct is filling the tank, leaning heavily against the front quarter panel, arms crossed, shoe-gazing. Cindy's map is spread out across the hood for Iggy's perusal, his brow furrowed in concentration as he studies the incomprehensible lines that make up Duscae's road system. Gladio has Prompto in a headlock, and the younger Prompto protests too loudly and flails when his feet leave the ground.

"Dude! Not the hair!"

He even misses that. Gladio's weird brand of mixing brotherly affection with mild physical assault.

His phone rings and he answers. Assures Cindy he found the part she was looking for. He found that, and something else. A special something he's kept safe in a velvet box for the last week. Whether she'll have him or not, Prompto can't say, but it's worth a shot. There's no one living who could make him happier.

She's seen him at his worst. Covered in dirt and blood and barely standing after a hunt.  A crying, snivelling mess. Cleaned him up after he drank too much. She knows him as well as he knows himself. Better, even.  

Noctis laughs, his head thrown back and Prompto's heart aches for all the years Noctis didn't get, for the sun he didn't get to see rise. He wishes he could go to him, put his arms around him and tell him to stay this young and pure, don't go to Altissia, find another way.

He wishes he could stay here, where time stands still and the specters of their more innocent selves cavort like they have nowhere important to be, but there's no sense in going back.

He's come too far to wish things were different. His life is settled. He's more or less happy with where he ended up. Besides, he'll eventually see Noct again, probably sooner rather than later if Iggy's research is correct. Another ten years or so.  Or maybe he'll luck out and get another fifty. Who really knows?

Whatever time he has left is a blessing and he wants to enjoy the sunlight and the breeze and the comfort of sharing his days with someone who knows him through and through. Memories are nice, but they don't keep him warm at night.  He can't touch or hold them.

It's time to go.  If he drives through the night, he'll arrive just in time to watch the sunrise with her from the Hallowed Hill of Hammerhead. 

After all, a gentleman never keeps a lady waiting.


End file.
